I'm a holy terror in the kitchen. Like really. Whenever company is due and my mom needs an extra set of hands, my mom will call on my little brother before she'll request my assistance. That's the way I like it. I can wash dishes and clean bathrooms and tidy the house like no one's business, but please don't expect me to know how to work a food processor.
But every so often I surprise myself.
Last week my mom made groundnut stew for my brother's geography class, and my sister and I consumed the leftovers. She was irritated she didn't get to have any, but it was so delicious I promised to make it for her. Because I am idealist and lack basic common sense skills.
Today I couldn't stand looking at my schoolwork another second and took advantage of the empty kitchen to make good on my pledge. The recipe was wonderfully simple: oil, chopped onions, minced garlic, brown in a saucepan. Add tomato paste, buollion cubes, chicken broth, a bay leaf, peanut butter -- simmer. Boil chicken. Cut chicken. Add to peanut gravy. Serve over rice.
Everything happened like it was supposed to. Nothing mysteriously turned black or exploded. It even tastes just like my mom's tasted when she made it last week. I am relieved. I added diced tomatoes to make the gravy more chunky, but I was afraid it would add too much acidity, but I ended up having to thicken the whole thing with more peanut butter, and, somehow it all worked out.
How can I describe how it tastes? It's mellow, and creamy, but the best part about it is probably that it's not overwhelmingly peanut butter-y. It reminds me more of chicken pot pie than anything else. Also, the rice is nothing to sneeze at either. [Seriously, keep your germs away.] I love rice. This recipe was gratis a missionary in our church; I owe my success to her, her recipes are no-fail.
There are no pictures. Seriously, it's not much to look at. But trust me, it happened. I actually cooked dinner. Go me.